Monthly Archives: August 2017

Note: This post refers to events in Montana during a recent trip there.

I could sense there were people right behind us. Trying to be ever the courteous hiker, I stopped along side the trail on a rock, and turned around.

“Would you like to go ahead?”

The couple looked at us, muttering, “No, no, you go ahead. We heard there is a bear near the trail up ahead.”

Normally, this comment would not bother me. As a Park Ranger with the National Park Service, I’ve seen hundreds of bears over my many years working in wilderness parks around the west.

Of course, those bears were black bears, or Ursus Americanus. The name is really a bit of a misnomer, as black ears in the west can come in all different colors, including blonde, cinnamon, light brown, dark brown, and yes, black.

I’d never had any trouble with black bears in all my years of hiking. What I learned from working in the national parks is if are vigilant in storing your food correctly, whether day hiking, backpacking or camping, the black bears don’t bother you.

But this day, we are hiking in grizzly country. An encounter with a grizzly bear is an altogether different concept. One that struck fear in my heart. For one, a grizzly is much, much larger, averaging 400-600 pounds and even more. They are powerful creature with an ability to attack and tear things apart.

And unlike Black Bears, there have been several incidents of grizzlies attacking people that had nothing to do with human food.

As we continued along, now a group of four of us, we spotted another couple ahead. They had stopped and seemed to be waiting for us. As we approached, they fell in line with us — we are now a train of six people. Everyone seemed to feel better about this fact, sensing that we had safety in numbers.

Another precaution we had taken is bringing a bottle of bear spray with us. Fortunately for us, our bed and breakfast had ample bottles and allowed us to check out a bottle while hiking in Glacier National Park.

With black bears, as a Park Ranger, I didn’t normally advocate for people to carry bear spray, only because it can cause more problems instead of helping people. The main thing is that it a) encourages people to get closer to a bear than they should and b) in the excitement of trying to use it, people often spray themselves instead of the bear. The goal is to do everything possible not to get close to a bear, and with black bears I have found that throwing rocks, waving arms, yelling as loud as possible usually drives the bear off.

But with grizzlies, I am in unfamiliar territory. They act differently. Despite their size, they can lumber across the tundra quite quickly, and I am worried about being surprised by a bear. The Park Service advises to play dead with a grizzly, lying on your stomach. The literature says don’t let the bear roll you over. Easy to say, but I imagine much harder to do when you are a 130-pound woman and the bear is 600 pounds. This helpful piece of literature claims the bear will lose interest and leave once you have convinced him you are “dead.”

So off we went with our train of hikers and armed with our bear spray to Grinnell Glacier. Part of me didn’t want to worry about an encounter, but the other part of me secretly hoped to see one of these amazing creatures. After all, living in Colorado, I’d pretty much seen everything else, but the last grizzly died in Colorado in the early 1900s. To see one, would be one of the most exciting moments I’d ever had in a national park.

All my consternation proved to be for naught, as we didn’t see any grizzly bears. It may have been because the three trails we hiked were heavily trafficked by hikers, hundreds of hikers. And as the literature said, they don’t tend to approach groups of people.

Totally unused, we returned our bear spray. Perhaps when we finally make our trip to Alaska. Until then…

Note: This blog post is about a recent road trip to Montana, British Columbia and Washington states.

As we drove through the entrance gate, the smoke hung over Lake McDonald. If my nose hadn’t belied the fact that it is indeed smoke, I would have thought it to be fog or a low-lying cloud. Then the orange signs confirmed it “Smoke ahead on the road.” The smoke had settled into the valley thickly, casting a haze against the towering mountains ahead.

It seems as if all of Montana is on fire this summer, with the smell of smoke evident as soon as we crossed the state line. I had been looking forward to this trip for months, as Glacier National Park is one of my all-time favorite destinations. I remembered my last visit 13 years ago vividly. The green meadows with wildflowers popping. The clear blue skies and the awesome grand peaks, glaciers, and lakes.

Visiting in late June, 2004, that visit, fires had never crossed my mind. Instead, snow and a landslide had been our biggest challenge. Towering banks of snow lay on either side of Logan Pass. We couldn’t even hike to Hidden Lake as feet of snow buried the trail. And we spent a whole day at St. Mary’s Lake waiting for a rock slide to be cleared from the Going-to-the Sun road so we could return to our campsite at Avalanche campground.

This time it’s not just the smoke that reminds me of how things are changing here at Glacier, it’s the acre upon acre of forest that’s burnt, trees scorched like matchsticks, especially on the east side of the park. Conversations with park rangers confirm that summers are getting warmer and hotter in a land that was once sculpted by enormous masses of moving ice.

Perhaps the most heartbreaking sign of climate change affecting this crown jewel are the photos. Founded in 1910, Glacier has 100 years of photos to remind us what once was, and our eyes to confirm to us what is now. During a recent hike to Grinnell Glacier, I stopped by the Many Glacier Hotel. The hallway is lined with black and white photos taken shortly after the park’s creation of its famous glaciers. Then photos taken in the last several years at the very same location.

It’s shocking. Many of the glaciers have receded to the point they are almost gone. Others are a tenth of the size they once were. All of this over the course of the last several decades. A park named for its landmark topography is looking at a future where there will be no glaciers left. And at the rate the glaciers are shrinking, it’s going to be in the not too distant future. The sadness I feel viewing these photos is overwhelming. I contemplate a day when children will come to visit and wonder how the park got its name.

And it’s not just in Montana at this one park. I spent a day in British Columbia just north of there and talked with the locals of Nelson, who said this is the driest, hottest summer they can remember. Now, I know one summer doesn’t confirm human-caused climate change. But combine that with the fact, that 33 million acres of forest were damaged or destroyed through a pine beetle epidemic in the 2000s. And contrast that with the fact that until 2000, British Columbia had never had a mountain pine beetle outbreak because their typically cold winters keep populations in check.

Something is afoot…

I want the the next generations of children to have glaciers to marvel upon. I want them to enjoy the smell of pine forests instead of smoke. I want them to have a planet that contributes to our good health, rather than destroying the living things around them.

Even if you have doubts about the causes of climate change, the evidence is overwhelming. We need to take action now to insure the future of our national parks, our forests, our lakes, and our glaciers.

It’s up to all of us. Let’s be part of the solution, and not part of the problem.

Exhausted from my hike up Pawnee Pass, I stumbled along to a spot where I could sit down and take a break. Breaking out my Kind Bars and some cheese, I sat and nibbled, while drinking water. The hike had taken much more out of me than I had expected. Still, the views of Lake Granby and the surrounding peaks made it all worth it.

Finally, I pulled myself up to make the trek back down to Brainard Lake. Clouds were starting their usual march in for the afternoon, and I definitely did not want to be on the pass if and when thunderstorms rolled in. Pulling on my pack, I gathered my trekking poles and started to walk back across the pass to the eastern side.

Out of the corner of my eye, something flitted across the ground. It happened so quickly, I had trouble catching up with it. I couldn’t locate it despite being certain it is close by. Then another quick movement as it scurried across the trail.

Oh my gosh! Now I know what it is – a ptarmigan! As it crossed to the other side, it sat for a moment on a rock right next to the trail. I quickly grabbed my cell phone, relishing a chance to take a photo up close of this elusive bird. That’s when I realized, there are actually two of them, both sitting on rocks right next to each other.

I managed to snap off three photos in succession before they moved again. As I looked at my photos, I marveled at their ability to camouflage themselves – if not for the shape of the beak, I really wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between the bird and the rock. Their speckled feathers provided the perfect disguise to meld into the background of the rocky pass.

In two months or so, they feathers would take on an entirely different color. Ptarmigans, you see, don’t migrate like other birds who spend their summers in the Rocky Mountains. They will spend their winters on the snowy tundra, adapting to their winter environment by turning entirely white. Again, using their feather to blend in, and evade their predators that would like nothing better than to kill them for a tasty dinner. Predators include lynx as well as larger raptors.

The smallest member of the grouse family, ptarmigans prefer walking to flying. They lean towards a more sedentary lifestyle, especially in winter when they roost in snow banks. You can find them in habitat at or above timberline even in the harsh winter months. While they will eat buds, leaves and seeds of many plants, their favorite food is willow, which they are especially dependent on in winter.

Whatever the time of year, it’s a special treat to observe the ptarmigan in its native habitat. But you must look long and hard – they are the masters of camouflage.

I can’t sleep. It is 3:30 a.m., 20 minutes before the alarm was set to go off, but I can’t sleep.

Today is the day. The day the moon will pass in front of the sun, blocking out the sun entirely for a full two minutes. It will be a total eclipse passing from coast to coast over the course of 90 minutes. A chance to see the corona surrounding the sun like a golden halo.

It’s dark, but I hear doors slamming in the hallway of the Days Inn that we have spent a mere 4 hours sleeping in our room. Our biggest fear is not making it to the Path of Totality in time to witness this glorious event.

So we push off with our two friends from Chicago, making our way up Highway 85. After much debate about our viewing location, we have decided on Fort Laramie National Historical Park. We quickly eliminated Glendo State Park, when we heard they were expecting over 100,000 people. We considered Guernsey State Park, but with our two dogs in tow, decided it was too hot there with not enough shade.

And so Fort Laramie it is. During the morning drive, things went smoothly, with traffic moving along at a rapid 60 mph. The parade of headlights at 5 a.m. traveling this desolate road in the middle of nowhere, seemd vaguely reminiscent of The Field of Dreams. But this time, nature is providing us with the spectacle that we have come from far and wide to witness. Before we knew it, we arrive in Torrington, stopping at a convenience store at 6 a.m. with a myriad of eclipse chasers, mostly from Colorado.

Things slow down quite a bit once we arrived at the Fort as we wait in a long line of people, following an impromptu dirt path to a field of parked cars. The atmosphere feels like a college football game, with people equipped with lawn chairs, blankets, coolers and food. Everyone seems excited, and this day we will experience the feeling of a win.

What a relief! We made it to the Path of Totality. I feel so excited to know we are here in plenty of time and would see the eclipse.

We stroll around, reading signs, going to the creek, finally parking ourselves under an immense cottonwood tree near the west side of the fort. A refreshing breeze blows through the quadrangle, as we sit with the dogs in the shade.

Then it is 10:42 a.m. Time for the eclipse to begin. I’m surprised, because very few people are here at this side of the fort. It’s like we are having our very own private viewing experience. I had expected to be shoulder to shoulder with thousands of people.

We don our eclipse glasses staring up at the glowing orb in the crystal blue sky. A tiny nibble appears in the upper right of the sun. Then it grows, looking much like a googly eye.

As the minutes elapse, a crescent form appears. My brain, so well trained from staring at the moon, says – yes, the crescent moon. But no, it’s a crescent sun! Wow, that is so cool.

As the moon continues its march creeping in front of the sun, the crescent is shrinking, looking little more than an eyelash. We’re down to less than 10 minutes until Totality, and I’m getting goose bumps thinking about it.

The sky to the west is looking darker and darker, and I feel enveloped by the wave of darkness that is descending upon us as it sweeps across the field. I begin to hear crickets chirping from the nearby river. And then it happens — it’s dark, like dusk right after the sun sets.

A massive roar arises from the crowd. Clapping and cheering! I look up and see the Corona around the sun. A ring of fire is glowing around it. OH MY GOD!

It is magical, awe-inspiring. This moment is like nothing else I have ever experienced on planet earth. WOW! We dance around, whooping. I see Venus pop out, just like at night.

“There’s Venus, there’s another star!”

Before I know it, the two minutes are over and the sun is out again. That quickly, it is all over. I peer up through my eclipse glasses, and it’s just a thin eyelash on the other side, but so bright without my glasses, I can hardly tell.

Now I know what all the hype is about. Now I know why you must go to the Path of Totality. I feel changed forever for the magnificence I have just witnessed. It’s one of the best days of my life.

I frantically look for my wallet as I click the mouse pad. I fill out my name, address and credit card and click again. Arrggh! I looked at the screen and see those dreaded words. No rooms available at this time.

“Maybe we should try calling all the motels in the off chance they just got a cancellation.”

And so we go down the list — Best Western, Super 8, Quality Inn, La Quinta. Of course, to add to the complexity of the situation, we need to find something pet friendly as we are bringing the two dogs with us. Even our dog sitter and her husband are going to Wyoming for the eclipse. It feels like the entire state of Colorado is heading north for the day.

Finally, we get to Motel 6.

I’m still surfing the Internet in hopes I find something, but listening to Bryon on the phone.

“You have something? What do I need to do to make the reservation?”

I see him scrawling something down on a piece of paper.

“Do they have a room?”

“Yep, we got a room. ”

I’m still not convinced, and we wait earnestly for the email confirmation to come. Then I worry that we mistakenly reserved the wrong night. But as I study the email again, there are the words, Checking in Aug. 20 for one night, checking out Aug. 21. Success!

I don’t think I have ever been so thrilled to get a room at a Motel 6 in my entire life. But this is different. We actually got a room in Wyoming the night before a total eclipse passes through the state.

It’s not like we’ve been lax about this. Bryon is an astronomy nerd and started talking about this eclipse almost two years ago. But a lot of places wouldn’t let you reserve until one year in advance, and I had hopes of us camping somewhere. But then the campsites got booked for the whole weekend and I have to work Saturday and Sunday.

So last winter, when we realized we couldn’t find any available motel rooms in Wyoming for less than several hundred dollars, we reserved a room in Fort Collins instead. At the time, it seemed reasonable. After all, it’s only a 2 1/2 hour drive to the Path of Totality from there. That is on a normal day with normal traffic patterns.

In the meantime, we scouted for locations within the elusive “Path of Totality.” There were several state parks, and as I researched them, I found out they were selling Eclipse Packages. This provided you a car pass insuring your admission the day of the eclipse. Two weeks later, I got my car pass, and two pairs of eclipse glasses.

Those eclipse glasses would be worth their weight in gold, as I found out this week, when everyone seemed to need glasses. My mother called me, telling me the glasses she ordered through Amazon were apparently fake, and she couldn’t use them. Later, a good friend said she was looking for glasses, but couldn’t find any. Bryon’s co-worker had been equally stymied. At this point, you could probably sell those silly cardboard glasses for bucket loads of money.

But the last several weeks, eclipse hysteria has set in, and Fort Collins didn’t seem so good. I read reports of more than 600,000 people descending on Wyoming for the eclipse. I envision a giant traffic jam on I-25. Newspaper stories say to give yourself five times the normal amount of time to get anywhere. People are saying gas stations will run out of gas and restaurants will run out of food. We are now planning to take extra gas, coolers, and other supplies with us, just in case we are stranded for hours on the highway.

We started thinking about driving straight through Sunday night and pulling over in some parking lot to sleep in our cars. But I also had a feeling that maybe, just maybe, there would be some cancellations at the last minute.

When I attended the Olympics in Salt Lake City in 2002, the same thing happened. Everything was booked 1-2 years in advance. But then the week the Olympics started, a few rooms came open. We just called around to a bunch of hotels and found an open room one night. I had hoped the same thing would happen.

So we got our room in Cheyenne. It would still be 1 1/2 hours to our planned destination of Guernsey State Park. Bryon is still saying we should get up at 3 a.m. and hit the road. We must do whatever means necessary to get to the promised land.

It is one of those days. One of those days when I just don’t have my normal spring in my step. I planned an ambitious hike up Pawnee Pass as part of my wilderness patrol for the Forest Service. I so wanted to have one of those good days, when hiking is effortless, and the miles just pass underneath my feet. But no, it is a low energy day, and if I am going to make the pass, I must resort to the Tishma method.

Working as a volunteer coordinator at Rocky Mountain National Park, I became acquainted with the persona of Walter Tishma. I wish I could say I got to know him personally. But I actually got to know who Walter Tishma was posthumously, after he passed away. As one of Rocky’s long-term volunteers, many volunteers knew him well and enthusiastically shared their favorite memories of Walter. Attending his memorial service on behalf of the park enlightened me even more. It made me sure if I had known him, I would have liked him very much.

Walter spend most of his time volunteering at Longs Peak, hiking the Longs Peak Trail and working at the ranger station. Summiting Longs Peak a mind-boggling 113 times, he became intimately acquainted with every inch of the infamous Keyhole Route. Walter hiked well into his 80s. Fellow Rocky volunteers share with me that many had asked how he continued to attain the summit as he got older. He replied that when he couldn’t go as fast, he vowed to just keep moving by going “heel to toe, heel to toe.”

As we all get older, it can be hard to keep putting ourselves out there. We can’t sprint up mountain peaks, or reel off a 13-mile hike in just a few hours. Everything is just a little bit harder. But I don’t want that to stop me from enjoying the beauty of Colorado. I plan to keep hiking the trails until I physically can’t walk anymore.

So when I’m straining up the last mile on a Fourteener (14,000-foot summit), or just having a challenging day energy-wise, I think of Walter. I think of him hiking Longs Peak as an elderly man in his 70s. Going slowly, but still going. And I vow if he could do it, I can too. And I go slowly, but keep moving, putting one foot in front of the other, heel to toe, heel to toe.

Driving down the Summer Road, I contemplated my work day in front of me. Sometimes, I am so preoccupied with my thoughts, I don’t even take note of my surroundings. Suddenly, I spotted a truck with a trailer parked on the last switchback, and I snapped back to the present moment. Why was a truck parked on the Summer Road with a trailer full of two by fours?

Then when I realized where the truck was parked, I got angry, very angry. They are back at it again. Even after a Stop Work Order had been issued and posted prominently on the tree. They brazenly flaunted the regulations. They were not playing by the rules.

Building in Boulder County can be frustrating at times. When building in a wildfire zone, many requirements are made of property owners to build according to regulations and also in keeping with wildfire mitigation. But I’ve grown to appreciate a lot of those requirements in hind sight.

After the Black Tiger Fire of 1989, the county required new homes to have Class A ignition-resistant roofs constructed. Since ember showers can be a main source of setting a building on fire, and roofs on alpine homes have a lot of surface area, just this one requirement could save a home from possibly burning down. Our home, built in 1992, has such a roof.

Those of us who have dealt with the county on building additions or decks, know that attaining a building permit can be a somewhat long and exhaustive process. So when a tract of land was purchased along the Summer Road, and literally the next day, trees were being cut down and a road constructed, we knew something was terribly amiss.

Knowing they couldn’t possibly have gotten a permit that fast was one thing. But anyone who’s lived in Nederland knows you wouldn’t want to depend on building your driveway into the Summer Road. There’s a reason it’s called the Summer Road, because during winter when it snows, it becomes a crazy bobsled ride of sliding cars ending up in ditches. In fact, the Summer Road closed for weeks at a time, when a car flipped on it, blocking the entire road.

It’s also a private access road maintained by the HOA of St. Anton Highlands and is paid for by the residents. The aforementioned property, while adjacent to the road, is not part of the HOA, and therefore technically shouldn’t even be driving the road, much less causing damage to it by pulling heavy trailers up it.

After numerous phone calls to the county land use department by several residents, a Stop Work Order was issued for the violation of building a road without a permit. The work had presumably stopped for a couple of weeks, when I didn’t see any further activity. But today, there is the truck and the trailer. I fumed.

We had played by the rules, despite the headaches of waiting on a permit, constant inspections and extra cost. My neighbors and friends had played by the rules, even those whose homes burned down in a wildfire. These people (who presumably are from out of state) are not playing by the rules. It is not ok. It is definitely not ok.

If you’re reading this, please join me in calling the county land use department. Everyone should play by the rules.

Mt. Evans, names after John Evans, govern of the territory of Colorado and leader in construction of the railroad

Out on a hike with my good friends Linda and Larry, we stopped to take a break. As we snacked on power bars and trail mix, we gazed upon the high peaks that seemed to surround us in each direction. We pulled out a map to look up the names of the peaks, as well as some of the surrounding lakes. Florence Lake, Alta Peak — where do the names come from?

Some white person many years ago came upon these peaks and decided to bestow it with a name. Many times, lakes and peaks got bestowed with the name of a daughter or beloved wife. Of course, for every peak that got named by an explorer, names were already given by the Native Americans who frequented the land far before white people came.

One of the more interesting stories I ever heard about a name had to do with Yosemite National Park. While attending a ranger program, I learned the story behind the name Yosemite. Yosemite is an Indian word, that white people thought meant “grizzly” as in grizzly bear because they heard the Indians saying it. In fact, the word the Indians were saying translated to something else entirely — “there are killers among them” – a reference to the white people who were invading their hunting lands.

Other times, names are more generic. Seems like in the Rocky Mountains, there are a million Crater Lakes, with Blue Lake rivaling it in terms of frequency. Those are not so hard to figure out how they got their names. The color of many of our alpine lakes can be stunningly blue or aquamarine. But where the blue comes from is more interesting.

This description from another blog describes it best — it’s the glaciers and the melting snow and ice that give it the intense blue color from the ground up rock that stays on the service, and how it reflects light. One of the most beautiful lakes I have ever seen in the mountains, Precipice Lake, had this impossibly green-blue color that defied reality. Its name comes from its location hanging just below the crest of the Sierra the Great Western Divide.

My home town of Nederland itself has its own interesting story behind its names that harkens back to the days of mining. When a silver strike led to boom town of Caribou four miles west of Nederland, they needed a mill built closer to process the silver ore. A mill was built 2000 feet below the silver mines. Dutch investors bought out the mines in 1873 and started referring to the area where the mill was as the “low-lands” or Nederland. Netherlands translated into Dutch is Nederland. Despite the town having several other names including Brownsville, Dayton, and Middle Boulder Crossing, Nederland stuck.

If you want to know more about place names in Colorado, consider consulting a great book called Colorado Place Names by William Bright. You can find out about your favorite mountain towns, peaks or lakes from Leadville to Longs Peak to Brainard Lake. (Hint, many are names after famous military men or explorers).

Who knows, maybe one day I’ll discover a previously undiscovered peak of my own and name it Mt. Leslie?

I woke to feel the cool of the air that filled our bedroom from the open window. The temperature — a brisk 46 degrees. The patter of rain on the skylight made me feel all snug in my bed. I found it difficult to roust myself from the warmth of the covers. This particular morning reminded me that fall is coming — maybe sooner than I think.

Making myself a cup of coffee, I sat down to the dining room table, watching the puddles form in the driveway. Glancing out the kitchen window, wisps of cloud like tufts of cotton candy, hung in the valleys between the ridges. The grasses that dried out last month, turning a lifeless brown color, are starting to revive with green once again. The fire ban for the county has been lifted, and the little arrow on the fire danger circle points to the green LOW.

And tonight? As temperatures barely broke 50 today, the house that normally would be warm from the sun’s rays has remained a temperate 64 degrees. As I drive the roads around Nederland, little wafts of smoke are popping up from people’s chimneys — signs of wood stoves being used for the first time since May.

Days like these remind me of what I love about our little log home on the ridge. Days like these provide a sense of comfort and snugness that all is right with the world. I want nothing more than to sip my tea or coffee, grab a blanket, and curl up with a good book.

But as I don my rain jacket to take the dogs out (they don’t care that it’s cold and raining), the world smells fresh and new. For this one day, the dust, dirt and pollen have been washed away, and the flowers and trees drink in this much needed moisture.

As I walked down the trail, I glimpse the sign in the distance. Weathered, the light brown color fading, it marks a special boundary. Indian Peaks Wilderness. While this sign in simple terms means relatively little, in larger terms wilderness symbolizes so much more. Particularly in the world we live in now, of overcrowded cities, and an ever increasing reliance on technology.

With 765 distinct wilderness area, wilderness now encompasses over 100 million acres of federal lands. These wilderness areas are managed by several different federal agencies — Forest Service, BLM, National Park Service and the US Fish and Wildlife Service. Wilderness areas don’t happen overnight, they are passed as legislation with only congress being able to designate wilderness.

For me, living in Nederland, I have become intimately acquainted with the Indian Peaks Wilderness. I refer affectionately to the Indian Peaks as my back yard, with the nearest trail head being a mere 15 minutes from my home. Designated in 1978 with wilderness protection, it is now one of the most visited wilderness areas in the country due to its close proximity to Denver and Boulder.

Most wilderness areas prohibit the use of motorized equipment, as well as prohibiting the building of permanent roads. For me, I treasure the quiet of the wilderness — a place where I can go and contemplate in peace, with only the sounds of nature to accompany me. Whatever my stresses or problems, a hike in wilderness grounds me and washes away my fears, reminding me of all that is beautiful around me. Wilderness comforts me, knowing it is the quintessential primeval forest.

I also find that I connect with my spirituality in wilderness. Being out in the wild, enjoying the majesty of the mountains, the quiet splendor of an alpine lake, or watching a pika gather grass for its winter cache all remind me there is something else greater than me in this world. Something big enough to create nature’s own cathedral. Something big enough to help me find solutions to my biggest problems.

For people living in urban areas, wilderness can take them away from the noise and hectic nature of the city. It’s a place to reconnect with nature, something scientists tell us bring about greater contentment and better health.

Today, most people treasure the beauty and solitude of wilderness. But is wasn’t always so. Early pioneers feared wilderness as a “dark and dismal place” with wild beasts who could harm you. There was so much unknown about the wild. And what is unknown is often feared.

As we become attache to our computer and smart phones, it becomes important to unplug ourselves. A walk in the wilderness teaches us a simpler way of life, even if only for two or three hours. We are present and tuned in. Enjoy!